


om hundrede år er alting glemt

by Magni



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, F/F, No Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 19:37:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1720175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magni/pseuds/Magni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It doesn't matter much what we do," she says. "They won't remember in a hundred years."<br/>"But you're making history," I reply, "It'll take more than a hundred years to forget you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There’s a sort of off-kilter din as the wedding bells ring. On the ride in, we could hear it in the car. I’m not entirely sure, but I think every bell tower in the capital city of Arendelle is involved, because it’s far too loud to be coming only from the cathedral we’re at. The military band starts playing and my father offers me his arm. Until this point, I have never been so nervous in my life. My heart is beating quickly, my stomach churning violently. I’m getting married.

I try to distract myself from my nerves by remembering my lessons of the history of my new people. The cathedral that I’m to be married in was built in the 1300s under the order of the first of my fiancée’s line, High King Hróarr the Bear. Hróarr the Bear was the first king of Arendal after they had become a kingdom separate from Denmark. The two were still each other’s strongest trade partners and have frequently combined their militaries, even after all this time and attempts to turn them against each other throughout history.

A steward opens the door to the cathedral’s sanctuary and we start walking down the aisle slowly. All those in attendance stand and I try not to notice them. The choir of school children starts singing and I swallow thickly. After a second of trying to see past everyone, I spot her. She’s standing next to her brother in an impeccable military uniform that I’ve only seen in pictures and hanging in the closet at our apartment, her pale blonde hair in a braided sort of bun. Medals adorn her chest and she has a sword (saber, I think might be the technical term) hanging at her side. I’ve never seen such a wide smile on her face before, but it’s there, looking like it’s always been a thing she does. I smile back and focus on making sure all the nobles in the room don’t think I’m rude. I smile at them and tilt my head in acknowledgment at the curtsies and bows of those along the aisles. If I make it through this day without tripping over my gown, I’ll be amazed. And, as an added bonus, Liam will lose his bet with Paul. That’s always a good thing. My brothers tend to be dicks.

When we’re finally at the end of the aisle, the steward bows at us and we turn to face the King and Queen. They’re both smiling, like they know they need to reassure me by losing the usual sternness they show in public. I curtsey while my father bows and then we turn. And there she is. Elsa is the happiest I’ve ever seen her. Eyes sparkling, she takes my offered hand from my father and tucks it into her arm, kissing me on the cheek. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” I say back, cheeks red. While I’ve been learning Arendal’s dialect of Danish and even the King says I’m getting good at it, I’m grateful she’s sticking to English right now. I’m nervous enough. “You look beautifuller! I mean n-not fuller, you don’t look fuller. But more - more beautiful.” She chuckles and pats my hand gently as we part to sit down in the chairs placed in the middle of the raised altar area.

“Thank you,” she whispers and I can hear the slight strain in her voice. I feel the pages adjusting my train and I wish I could hold her hand right now because she’s not fond of large crowds, but I’m not sure that it’s appropriate. I never asked about that when we were practicing for today and now I’m worried it’s too late. The priest is standing before us in white, the crocus of the royal family embroidered along his robes, Thor’s hammer hanging around his neck.

Elsa’s hand finds mine and places it on her knee as she leans in. “Don’t be too nervous. I promise this will be over soon and then we can disappear for a few weeks.” I grin at her, knowing that her words are for both of us - we just have to survive the pomp and circumstance and then we can get back to our lives.

“That sounds wonderful.” I turn to watch the priest, marveling slightly. When I met her four years ago, I had no idea who she was. She was just a pretty girl in my class.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s hard not to bounce my leg excitedly, but I manage it because I know my neighbors in the lecture hall will be annoyed. The old wood-carved lecture hall is relatively empty, only about eight or nine of us scattered amongst the rounded tables. It’s a required class for freshmen and transfer students - my RA said it was to teach us how to research and write papers properly. Apparently before this class was created, the university had issues with plagiarism.

The professor walks in finally, setting his briefcase on the wooden desk and leaning against it, staring us each in the face. It’s a bit unnerving, his dark brown eyes meeting mine for a long moment before moving onto the next student. Eventually he gets up and writes his name on the chalkboard. _Dr. John Michaels, Creative Literature._

“I know this is a big hall,” he says, his voice hoarse, “But I would appreciate it if you could all move to the front row. I’m afraid my voice isn’t what it used to be.” I grab my backpack and follow the shuffle down the stairs to the front two tables. I sit between a hulking boy who I’m pretty sure plays football and….

_Oh wow._

It’s hard not to stare at her like a creep, but somehow I manage to keep it to brief glances every now and then as syllabi are handed out and there’s a shuffle for pens. Her hair is pale blonde, almost white and it’s pulled back in a messy ponytail. Her nose is perfectly pointy and she has a few freckles on her cheeks, but they’re faint. Her fingers are my favorite thing to look at though, as she starts doodling on her syllabus. Her fingers are long and delicate looking, except for the scar that jags it’s way across the meaty part between her forefinger and thumb on her left hand. It twists as she draws and I have to force myself to pay attention to what Dr. Michaels is saying.

“This semester, I’m technically supposed to have you write a ten to twelve-page research paper on a topic of your choice.” He smiles and shrugs. “But I’m getting senile and I’m tired of forcing kids to write term papers. As my speciality is creative lit, I want you all to either write a drama or stick to the research paper. You don’t have to decide now, but I need a general idea by mid-October.”

I look down at my syllabus and start writing down ideas for a historical drama. _Vampires?_ No, too overdone. _Mermaids?_ Nope. Too Disney. _Joan of Arc?_ Yeah! Only the most badass lady from CCD class. There’s a scar on my forehead from the time a friend and I attempted to reenact the Battle of Orleans on the playground with a few old pipes we found behind the backstop.

As class ends, I watch the blonde girl sling her messenger bag over a shoulder and walk down the stairs, fiddling with her phone. I decide then and there that my goal is to find out her name and see if she would like to go to the dog park or something. Who _doesn’t_ like puppies?

 

* * *

 

I make sure to sit in the same spot for the second day of class, hoping that she will too. It’s weird and strange to do this, but she’s just so pretty and I kind of want to get to know her better. Or at least find out her name because constantly referring to her as “the pretty blonde girl” is getting ridiculous and it’s too wordy.

I pull out my notebook and a few pens, drumming them slightly as I wait for the rest of our class to show up. The big football player guy walks in and sits down on the table that’s just down in front of me. He smiles at me and I grin back.

“Hi!”

“Hey!” he says with just as much enthusiasm. “Excited for round two?” I nod emphatically and bounce in my seat a little. I realize that I probably look immature, but I’m excited and nervous and when is the gorgeous girl going to show up? I keep talking to the football player guy, trying to keep a handle on my hyperness. She probably won’t want to talk to me if I act like a child.

Someone slides into the seat next to mine just as Dr. Michaels walks in and clears his throat. I glance over and see the blonde girl. Where did she come from? She was pretty _and_ quiet. Crazy.

“Today I want you to pair off and tell each other about yourselves using the questions on the sheet I will pass around. Then, take what you know and write a quick story about your partner,” he smiles, cleaning his glasses. “And please, try not to be cruel when doing so.”

I turn, facing the blonde girl with a grin. “Hi!” She chuckles, her hand coming up to hide her mouth. I stick my hand out for her to shake. “I’m Anna Cassidy.”

“Elsa Alriksen,” she says. “It’s very nice to meet you.” The voice in the back of my mind thanks the universe and everything in it that Dr. Michaels had us pair off today. Not only do I get to know her name, but I get to learn about her! _Awesome!_

I glance at the paper we’re given and look back up at her. She’s still reading, with a slight smile on her face. Once she looks up, her eyes meet mine and I’m kind of fascinated by how blue they are. Like, the color of my brother’s favorite marble or ––

“What’s your favorite color?” She asks, making me get back on task. Her voice is slightly accented and I wonder where she’s from. I feel my face flush and I look down quickly. _God, Anna. Pay attention._

“Oh!” I pause, debating. Green is really nice, the color of summers and my old pickup. Yellow’s sunny and happy and the color of my dog back at home and the little caramel candy wrappers. Orange is the color of bonfires with my brothers and leaves in the fall. Purple is the color of my mom’s favorite worn-out sweater and what the sky looks like just after sunset. Red is the color of kissable lips and cherry pie. And blue...blue’s the color of the sky and her eyes. “Um, the rainbow, I guess? I like them all.” She smiles widely at that and scribbles down my answer on her notebook. “What’s yours?”

“I’m going to say blue.” Class passes quickly and I try to scratch out a fun story about her and a talking snowman. She has two siblings, is five years older than me, and is from the Scandinavian country of Arendal. I turn her dog Marshmallow into a giant snowman, not entirely sure if she’ll be okay with that or not. She described him as a big thug, so he’s a giant Hulk-like snowman with ice spikes. I name the little, lopsided snowman in the story Olaf, making him a childish fool.

“Okay,” Dr. Michaels says, clapping his hands together. “Go home, proofread and type it up. Then you’ll be reading them aloud to the class on Friday.” Oh. Well, _shit._

**Author's Note:**

> please let me know what you think


End file.
